


Anywhere

by emungere



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: Written for a prompt about s2 fireside kisses.





	Anywhere

Will stared into the fire. He hadn’t said a word to Hannibal since he arrived for his appointment, and Hannibal hadn’t spoken since he’d invited Will into his office. The last person Will had spoken to had been Jack. Before Jack, Hannibal. Before Hannibal, Jack. In there somewhere, he must’ve at least thanked a cashier for his change or called one of his dogs to heel, but he couldn’t remember it. 

He only remembered the silence between the two new poles of his life, and he wasn’t sure who he hated more: his past self for thinking he could do this without pain, Jack for his monstrous pragmatism, or Hannibal, for everything. 

He held out his glass. Hannibal refilled it. They were drinking whiskey. Will was, anyway. Hannibal wasn’t drinking much. He was looking at Will in that way he had lately that was very much like the way he inhaled the scent of wine before he took a sip. 

“You remember the totem pole of bodies?” Will said. His voice sounded unused. He’d seen Jack two days ago. Had he really not spoken since then? 

“I do.” 

“The guy who did that planned to get caught. He wanted everyone to know in the end. He wanted credit where credit was due.” Will pressed the glass to his lower lip but didn’t drink. “Is that what you’d want? Eventually?” 

Hannibal looked into the fire. “Supposing that I had anything to take credit for.” 

“Supposing.” 

“I have never cared very much for the opinion of the world at large, nor particularly longed for immortality. Whatever I do is primarily for myself. As what you did with Randall was primarily for your own gratification.” 

“And even after that, you’re going keep lying to me. Keep hedging your bets,” Will said into his glass. He sounded sulky about it. He felt sulky about it, and that might be the worst part of all this. He set his glass on the floor and stood. “I’ll see you next week.” 

Hannibal was up and casually blocking his path in about half a second. Maybe less. Will hadn’t expected him to move that fast. When he put his hands up to avoid the collision, he ended up with his palms pressed flat to Hannibal’s chest. One rested over his silk pocket square. The other had landed on Hannibal’s shirt, and the cotton was thin. Will could feel the heat of his skin and his heartbeat and the tiny pause in his breath. 

Hannibal touched Will’s waist, fingertips only. “Primarily for myself, but not entirely.” 

Will looked up. They weren’t often this close, and he forgot how physically imposing Hannibal could be. “Who else would it be for?” 

Hannibal raised his other hand to Will’s cheek. “You know.” 

Hannibal’s expression was so open. Will had a flash of what he must be like when he killed. He’d see it. They were moving toward that. No way to stop. He didn’t want to stop. 

Will leaned up and in. He curled his fingers into the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt. Hannibal stayed statue-still. He didn’t even blink. 

Will stopped with their lips an inch apart. “Tell me anyway. At least give me that much.” 

“For you,” Hannibal said. 

“You only met me a few months ago,” Will said. He looked at Hannibal’s mouth, partly open, shiny from the sweep of his tongue. 

“Even before I met you,” Hannibal said. He sounded breathless. 

“Supposing you did anything at all,” Will murmured. “You did it for me?” 

“That is how it feels to me now. Yes.” 

Will took pity on them both. He leaned in that last inch and pressed their mouths together, his own as devouring as Hannibal had taught him to be and Hannibal’s yielding in every way. Hannibal’s lips were soft, and his mouth was warm. Will felt more drunk off the taste of whiskey on his tongue than he had from emptying his glass. Hannibal’s hand wasn’t quite steady against his cheek. 

Will stepped back. He’d meant to leave, meant to tell Hannibal to let him know when he was ready for more than suppositions and hypothetical statements, but he couldn’t let go of Hannibal’s shirt. He stood there with the cotton tight in his fist and stared down at the floor. 

Hannibal laid a hand over his. “What is it you need?” 

There was a question Jack would never ask him. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I need. I’m tired of people lying to me. I’m tired of lying.”

Hannibal drew him closer, and Will let him do it. “Will you come home with me and let me cook for you?” 

“I don’t know. Are you planning to feed me human flesh?” 

“Yes,” Hannibal said. 

Will looked up at him. “Whose? Randall Tier’s?” 

“No.” Hannibal uncurled Will’s fingers from his shirt and kissed his knuckles. “One of mine. Will you come with me?” 

“Yes,” Will said. And he thought: anywhere.


End file.
